Counting the Steps
by Jesusrocks
Summary: Auggie thinks over his relationship with Annie. Annie/Auggie fluff but introspective from Auggie's POV. One-shot.


Hello all! Yes, I'm still alive. No, I haven't updated anything recently. I'm working on it but between school, work, sickness, and new obsessions (Once Upon A Time namely…) it's slow moving. I've been attacked by plot bunnies and the one a dear friend…is "forced" too strong of a word?...to write was this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Annie/Auggie fluff but introspective from Auggie's POV. Enjoy!

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It was one of the first things he learned after losing his sight: counting steps. It helped navigate short distances, like from the bed to the bathroom. Thirty two. Or from the front door to the cabinet, then to the liquor. Twenty three, right turn, eight, and left turn. One city block was one hundred and eighty two steps, not including the step to the curb. It became a way of life after a while: counting every step until it engrained itself in his memory.

_One, two, three…_

It became his dance through life. Forty four steps here, twenty eight there, backwards, forwards, it was poetic if he stopped to think about it long enough. If no one moved the furniture around at work, or left a chair in the middle of the isle, he could navigate with ease. He still used a cane, and later a laser cane designed by a good friend, but it became a double check. He always knew where he was. He always knew the steps.

_Four, five, six…_

Almost two years after he lost his vision, he realized people were the same way. Three steps one way led to one reaction, two steps the other led to something entirely different. It became a game of sorts, a light in his dark world. He would play with Joan and Arthur, sometimes Jai when he wasn't off on assignment. His underlings were too easy but perfected his technique. It was all about the count.

_Seven, eight, nine…_

When she first walked into the office, he faltered. His count was perfect but she was messing with the flow. Between the scent of Jo Malone and beer from the previous night, Annie messed with his head. When he expected two steps, she took one…or four. When he expected her to turn, she faced him and breeched his personal space. She was a wild card and he loved it.

_Ten, eleven, twelve…_

Being predictable wasn't a bad thing and he wished he could drill that into her head sometimes. She took crazy risks and even crazier leaps of faith. He prayed she knew how important the count was. It was always a matter of life and death with her…or at least it always turned into a matter of life and death. She might have bumped along, dragging him with her, but somehow, despite the count, she always escaped. Maybe there was more to this…

_Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…_

Being with Annie was a different dance altogether. She never kept count but he loved it. She was unpredictable and zigged when he expected her to zag, but sometimes zagged when he expected her to zag; to keep him on his toes. At least that's what she claimed. Everyone else followed his rules, sometimes with hesitancy, sometimes with delight, but he could predict their movements. She became the capriciousness he never knew he craved.

_Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen…_

Counting was his life. From computers and their predictable patterns to people and how he could make them dance to his own steps, but only a few numbers stayed in his head. One hundred and two: the distance from the parking garage to the apartment he and Annie bought together. Thirty one: the number of steps from the front door to the couch…where he proposed and she said "yes". Ninety seven: the length of the aisle where he took Annie as his wife. Twenty nine: the distance from their bed to the crib that held their newborn daughter.

Numbers were everything. The count had to be kept. But there were always more important things and he couldn't wait to discover them.

_Nineteen, twenty, twenty one…_

_Ready or not, here I come._

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Hope you enjoyed. If you feel the need to flame, please flame responsibly.


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